We'll Stay in this Beautiful Mess
by TRikiD
Summary: It was just an accident, so the two try to avoid the subject and each other like the plague. But that's easier said than done, especially when rumors spread and you actually fall head over wheels for someone.
1. Prologue

It was one inch too close. They hadn't stopped in time, which resulted in not a terrible, deadly collision like you might expect, but rather something else—a kiss.

Duck and Oliver, the two very proud engines that ran the infamous "Little Western" line, were working twice as hard and fast to impress Sir Topham Hatt in hopes of being able to take the oh-so important Deputy Minister home. But when Duck accidentally missed a red signal and allow Oliver to pass safely, the two screeched to halt, sparks flying from their wheels as they helplessly inched closer…and closer…and closer…until their lips met in the tiniest peck.

But however small the kiss was, the contact was immensely far from their comfort zones; Duck and Oliver remained still, staring deeply into each other's wide eyes, until their lips finally disconnected with a faint smack when they backed away in unison.

And in their shock-induced state, they failed to notice the ever-growing attention of Oliver's passengers, especially the second set of camera flashes of a photographer who happened to be on board; though, the two engines could hardly pay mind to anything around them, as they blushed madly and cleared their throats, which suddenly felt dry as a desert.

"O-Oliver…" Duck began, barely able to mutter the said engine's name louder than a whisper after what just happened, "What are you d-doing on _my_ track?"

Oliver was surprised, almost immediately forgetting the whole ordeal to snap back, " _Your_ track? Who says this is your track?"

It was Duck's turn to get a little fumed, as he, too, figured the more important matter here was to prove his point, "There are two ways of doing things, Oliver: the Great Western Way, and-."

"The Wrong Way," Oliver parroted with a scoff, rolling his eyes and sneering, "I know. And you're doing it the wrong way."

With nothing else to say, and just wanting to get out of the terribly awkward situation, Oliver was first to back away and find another way around to his first objective. And although Duck was quick to do the same and head off in the opposite direction, something churned within his boiler, a voice that begged him to go after the Cornish-accented engine. His head screamed at him not to, and he did just that; he knew neither him nor Oliver should make such a big deal out of such a little accident, which surely wasn't going to have any dire consequences later, right?

Right?

* * *

 **Ugh! Prologues and short chapters in general will be the death of me! BLARGH!**

 **Anyway, a couple little things I wanna state here. First off, this story is inspired by Kristian Kostov's "Beautiful Mess." Very beautiful song, I suggest looking it up. And second, NO, this is not the end of the story because this isn't some little drabble. There will be more chapters, longer ones in fact, in the very near future.**

 **Also, I can't be the only one who ships DuckxOliver, right?**

 **Until the next chapter, I'm TRikiD, bye-bye!**


	2. Chapter 1 - Our Little Secret

Chapter 1 - Our Little Secret

 _It was the same scene, the exact. Same. Scene. The timing, the speed, the passenger train he was pulling; Oliver swore there was a sense of déjà vu here; although, there were a few significantly different elements. For one thing, it wasn't daytime, but rather a clear blanket of night had fallen, and there were innocently-blinking fireflies in the grass on both sides of the tracks._

 _But many yards before Oliver approached the signal that Duck ran through, he subconsciously began to slow down, quite a bit, in fact; he then noticed that the weight of his train had suddenly disappeared, too, worrying and confusing him instantly._

 _Just then, the sound of another steam engine puffing closer could be heard, making Oliver squint through the darkness to see who it could be. He honestly dreaded he knew exactly who it was, and he hated himself for guessing correctly. Slowly puffing closer to him was none other than Duck himself, wearing that Godforsaken smirk that always flaunted his pride of his Great Western Railway lineage around like fancy silver ribbons._

 _Despite what happened between them the last time they ran into each other, Oliver was more concerned with gaining a logical explanation._

 _"_ _Duck? What're you doing here? What am I doing here?" Oliver asked quickly, his eyes darting around frantically._

 _"_ _There's no need to stress, My Sweet Olive," Duck cooed softly, making Oliver gasp and blush at the nickname; the only time he could remember being called that when he'd had a one night stand with a random female engine way back when. She had called him that in the heat of the moment, and even then, she obviously didn't mean it since she left without saying goodbye soon after. But Oliver knew the meaning behind the nickname, especially with Duck's suggestive tone, so did this mean that…?_

 _"_ _Duck…w-what're you saying?"_

 _The said pannier tank engine chuckled as he inched closer, staring affectionately at Oliver's soul through his eyes, "If you truly care for me—then tell me my real name."_

 _Oliver's lips quivered, "M…Montague…"_

* * *

Oliver woke with a gasp, his eyes squinting from the harsh light of the rising sun to begin the day; he quickly took in his surroundings, realizing he was in his shed that he shared with Donald and Douglas at Callan Yard.

 _It was just a dream…thank God,_ Oliver thanked internally, thankful that his rude awakening didn't disrupt the Scottish Twins' slumber. Luck seemed to swing heavily in Oliver's favor this morning, for Duck would occasionally rest at Callan Yard during downtime, but he wasn't there this time, much to Oliver's relief. He wasn't sure how he would react to seeing the one engine that causes the most discomfort first thing in the morning…but come to think of it, Oliver hadn't really seen Duck at all since their little kissing incident a few days ago.

Not that Oliver was complaining, and he was sure that Duck, too, was more than happy to avoid him and put the past behind them. All he had to keep doing was avoid him and never bring up the subject or accidentally tell anyone else, and the awkwardness between him and Duck would surely die out in a month or two.

 _But if that were true, why did I do I feel…guilty?_ Oliver thought in shame, knowing he should at least apologize to Duck for his behavior. Kiss or no, Oliver would consider Duck a very close and old friend, if not his best. He would never do anything to jeopardize their friendship, but he felt like what happened between them had done just that.

"What?" a familiar voice asked, violently yanking Oliver from his thoughts when he looked over to find that Douglas was wide awake. Had he been thinking out loud…again?

"Sorry, Douglas. You know how bad I am at keepin' my thoughts to myself. But, um…" Oliver began, pausing and swallowing nervously, "H-How much did you hear?"

"Just somethin' about apologizin' ta Duck. What'd ya do to him, anyway?" Douglas asked out of curiosity.

Oliver sighed sadly, "It doesn't matter."

With that, auto-tank engine puffed forward to take his mind off his stress by starting work a tad earlier, but that didn't cease his old friend's concern for him.

Douglas and Oliver had gone way back, and the latter said he owed him his life to for rescuing him from being scrapped all those years ago. Douglas told him to make nothing of it, and the two have remained great friends since then. This also meant that one could sense something was troubling the other, and Douglas was certain that this time was no different.

* * *

The engines at Tidmouth Sheds were usually woken up earlier than most because of the morning passenger trains that needed to be pulled; James was no exception, as he pulled two passenger coaches to Wellsworth Station.

James was more excited than tired this morning, for he heard he was picking up an important passenger, a new and young photographer named Greg Steffer that worked for the gossip columns of Sodor's newspapers; most columns were dry and tasteless, but with the help of Greg, the press had made a huge improvement with attracting more readers.

After all, who could go wrong with a little harmless rumor or two?

James soon pulled up to the platform, coaches on the ready, and frantically skimmed the station for his important passenger. And eventually, he spotted him with a few fans, chatting up a storm about how he comes across such juicy stories so easily.

"It's all in the timing," Greg chuckled boastfully, a heavy New York accent rolling off of his tongue, and raising his beloved camera to his eye; he looked around the station through the lens until he suddenly landed on a certain red engine, which reminded him of his upcoming story.

"Well, there's my train. Gotta go!"

The fans sighed as Greg disappeared into the crowd of other people that needed to climb into James' coaches, but stopped short of getting on to get a chance of speaking with the engine.

"Hey. You're James the fabulous red engine, right?" Greg began with a smile in hopes of buttering up James to get him to talk.

"Oh, Greg Steffer! I didn't expect to run into you!" James exclaimed in surprise, acting as though he never heard the compliment since he already knows how fabulous he is.

"Well, you are the engine taking me to Vicarstown."

"Touché."

"Anyway, you've got a minute or two ta spare before we get this show on the road, don't ya?"

"I suppose." James smirked and quirked a brow proudly. "Did you want to interview me because I'm so grand?"

"No," Greg replied flatly, taking James by complete surprise considering the kindness he showed him not one minute ago, "Ya see, James, I need yer help. You're around the engines way more than I'd like to be, and it's you engines that are the center of my next story."

"Really?"

"Yup. I want you ta find out what ya can about—relationships." James' eyes widened at that last part, especially when Greg lowered his voice, as if trying to avoid any unwanted attention.

"Relationships?" the red engine parroted.

"Yeah, ya know, the platonic, the romantic, and even the forbidden," Greg chuckled darkly, "If ya see or hear anything that'll be newspaper-worthy, stop by my office in Vicarstown any time ya like."

"Any time?"

"Of course."

James grinned with that, knowing that this new acquaintanceship could be the key to someday getting into the newspaper himself. He would finally gain the respect and popularity de dreamed of.

The sudden call of a whistle pierced the air, pulling James from his thoughts when he knew that it meant it was time for the passengers to board.

"Oh, and one more thing, James," Greg began, pointing a firm finger at the said engine while walking back to the coaches, "This is our little secret."

* * *

Ever since the kiss, Duck wasn't fairing much better than Oliver; the feeling of the latter's lips pressed against his was constantly on his mind, in his nightmares, and kindling his stress. So much so, that the other engines soon took notice of how easily inattentive he'd been lately.

And when he was once again too deep in thought to pay attention to his surroundings…

"OW!" Thomas yelped when Duck unknowingly shunted a goods train into him from behind, obviously a bit too hard, "Duck! What was that for?!"

"Oh, Lord! Sorry about that! I'm just a little…absent-minded," Duck informed sheepishly.

"We've noticed," Diesel growled in annoyance while pulling a train of freight trucks.

"Duck's a moron, a genuine quack! Can't keep his mind stayed on track!" the trucks taunted as they passed by.

"How 'bout you just keep your grammar on track, ya little hair-brained halfwits!" Duck shouted back at the trucks, but they continued to cackle, making him sigh in defeat, "Great. Now I'll never hear the end of it from them."

"Why not talk to Oliver? The trucks always listen to him," Thomas suggested.

"W-What?! Wh-Who said anything about seeing Oliver?! I never needed his help!" Duck didn't realize what he said or how aggressive he sounded it was too late, much to Thomas' confusion.

"But he always helps you with your branch l-."

Duck was quick to interrupt the blue engine, "You needn't worry about me! I handle those little whelps on my own, thank you!"

The pannier tank engine then puffed away once the freight train was coupled up to Thomas, leaving the latter behind in an awkward silence to figure out Duck's sudden change in behavior.

"What's wrong with him?" James questioned while approaching Thomas, as he had reluctantly followed Sir Topham Hatt's orders to help out at the shunting yard, wishing he could be pulling more dignified coaches instead.

"I'm not sure. He's really distant and won't let anyone help him, not even Oliver," Thomas replied with worry.

"Not even Oliver, eh?" James asked in surprise, considering how long the two have known and worked with each other, "That _is_ a shocker."

"I know. And if this doesn't stop, my back buffers are gonna fall right off."

James seemed to read too much into that statement, for his eyes popped wide and he looked at Thomas with a grimace, but the said blue engine failed to notice his expression as he puffed away. James figured it was best to just drop it instead of chase after him to get more context.

 _Nothing juicy here either. How are people going to see a splendid engine such as myself in the newspaper if I can't help its best photographer?_ James pondered in frustration, having been trying to ask other engines about any relationships they know about. But they either didn't know anything, or what they did know was already widely known; for example, Emily's secret affair, at least she thinks it's still a secret, with the Scottish twins. Emily in the middle, indeed.

There were only a few options left before he would run out of inspiration, and he promised Greg he would find something. So, who hasn't he turned to yet?

* * *

 **Ooh, I think we may have found our antagonist. What distance is he willing to go just to expose a terrible secret?**

 **Until the next chapter, I'm TRikiD, bye-bye!**


	3. Chapter 2 - Blackmail

Chapter 2 - Blackmail

Miraculously, Duck started out the day as a blank slate, meaning he had forgotten about _you-know-what_ for the most part, and he was perfectly content with that; he hadn't even run into Oliver on his branch line to remind him, which was another stroke of luck.

But while the pannier engine was waiting in a station on his branch line, he assumed his mind began to play tricks on him when heard numerous strangers murmuring. About what, Duck had no clue. But he had a feeling of dread that it wasn't anything good.

One teenage leaned over to whisper into the ear of another teen, most likely a close friend, and she gasped at what she heard.

"You're kidding!"

"Nope. I was there, and I saw it with my own eyes. You know Greg from the newspaper gossip column, right?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Well, I heard he got a few really good pictures, and he's gonna post 'em in his next story."

"Oh, jeez. I can't imagine what it must be like to be humiliated like that."

"I dunno—they seemed like love birds to me."

"Ew!"

As the two giggled and walked away, Duck's rods were practically rattling in terror. Was the one girl telling the truth? Had she been a passenger on Oliver's train when they-?

 _Oh, stop being so paranoid, Montague!_ Duck screamed at himself internally, _The odds of her knowing anything are slim to none. Besides, that photographer she mentioned could've taken pictures of anyone—the universe doesn't revolve around you._

"Hi, Duck!" The said engine yelped in surprise, especially when he hadn't even noticed Percy sitting across from him on the opposite track.

"Oh…Percy…it's just you…" Duck huffed while catching his breath, "Be a friend, and don't ever do that again."

"Sorry," Percy chuckled nervously, "I'm supposed to go to the quarry, but I'm afraid to work with the troublesome trucks."

"Ok? Why are you telling _me_ this?"

"Well, I wanted to ask Oliver for help since the trucks never disobey him, but I can't find him. So, I was wondering if you knew."

Duck's expression switched from calm and collected, to nervous and inarticulate, "U-Uh, heh-heh…s-sorry, Percy! I-I, um, haven't heard from and/or seen Olive Oil lately!"

"Um—don't you mean 'Oliver'?" Percy questioned slowly when he noticed that Duck mispronounced the said auto-tank engine's name.

"R-Right, right! That old geezer…engine…guy…"

The air quickly became tense to the point where neither engine could figure out what to say, figuring it would make the conversation much worse. And with that notion, Percy thought it was best to drop it.

"Uh-huh…well, I guess I'll just keep asking around if anyone else has seen him. Thanks anyway, Duck," the green engine admitted sheepishly before puffing away.

"Sure thing, Percy," Duck added meekly, fearing that his voice was too small for Percy hear.

 _Jesus, you're so pathetic. And all for what? An accidental kiss…that doesn't mean anything?_ Duck pondered in anger, _No…no, this can't go one. I've got to put a stop to this._

* * *

After realizing that there was no better story, James finally gave up and decided to share the Scottish Twins and Emily's story with Greg, hoping it would be enough to satiate his and his readers' need for great stories. But Greg had already heard of the story himself and didn't think to post the infamous story in the newspaper, so he had his doubts.

"I dunno, James. You sure people are gonna like this love triangle crap?" the photographer asked in disbelief, relaxing in one of the coaches.

"I'm terribly sorry, but I couldn't find anything better. You said you wanted a romance story about us engines, so at least most of the people won't have heard it already," James explained apologetically.

"Alright. But if yer story does bugger all ta bring in viewers, yer never gettin' in the paper." James gasped in surprise, to which Greg grinned in confidence. "Yeah, that's right. I know the only reason you wanted ta help me was ta get in a column of yer very own."

"H-How did you know?"

"I'm the head photographer and journalist of Sodor's best gossip column. Nothin' goes by without me noticin', so you best watch yer back, ya narcissistic cannibal."

A shudder of insecurity ran through James' boiler, making him realize just how serious Greg was. So, he remained silent for the rest of the journey to Callan Yard, not wanting to anger the Brooklyn-accented man anymore.

The two waited until the end of the day to head out, as to not irritate Sir Topham Hatt for distracting other engines and preventing them from being really useful. So, as the sun set over the ever-humble yard, James and Greg began looking for to Scottish Twins to gain some useful information.

James whistled a few times to get Donald's attention when rolled through with a train of heavy trucks, to which the latter stopped and whistled back.

"Hiya, James! What brings ya here?" Donald greeted politely.

James opened his mouth to answer, but Greg was quick to burst from his carriage and call out, "Actually, _you_ are, Scotty—well, you and your brother's relationship with that spunky engine, Emily!"

A deep red blush quickly spread across Douglas' face, "Now, w-what're ya doin' pokin' inta other peoples' business?"

"What're we doin'?" Greg chuckled mockingly.

"We're simply giving those we care about what they want—surely, you can understand that," James taunted with a knowing smirk.

Greg then stepped forward, "Yeah. So, if ya don't mind, I just wanna ask a few questions about yer little triangle. Think you can do that, Scotty?"

"First of all, my name isn't 'Scotty', it's Douglas. And second, I don't see why I should listen to you," Douglas growled threateningly.

"Right, ok. I see how it is. James, could you excuse us for a minute? I gotta talk with 'Dougy' here in private," Greg demanded, placing air quotes around Douglas' nickname, and James didn't think twice before puffing to the other side of the yard.

Once the red engine was gone, Douglas sent another cold glare towards Greg, "Listen here, Greg Steffer. You wouldn't like it much if someone kept exposin' your most precious secrets either. It really hurts people."

"That so, Dougy? Well, then, I guess ya wouldn't want yer dear friend Oliver ta suffer in yer stead, would ya?"

Douglas could only cock a brow in great confusion. What was he talking about? And how could he know who Oliver is in the first place?

"What're you talkin' about?"

With a confident, swift movement of his hand, Greg pulled out a folder, revealing a collection of photos inside. And when Douglas took a moment to examine them, his eyes popped wide when he realized what was in the photo—or, more importantly, who.

"That…that can't be real," Douglas muttered in disbelief.

"Oh, but is it. Saw it with my own eyes, and the rest of Sodor will, too, if I don't find another interesting story ta take its place," Greg threatened, his voice low like a growl.

"Y-You can't do that!"

"Why not? All I gotta do is get it ta my publisher. And believe me, he loves a good life-destroyin' story as much as I do." Greg fluently placed the pictures of Duck and Oliver back into the folder, and hid it back into his jacket. "So, if you don't wanna betray yer best friend, you'll come quietly and answer a few questions fer me. Think you can do that, Dougy?"

Douglas swallowed hard, the taste of fear salty as it dried his throat. Greg was right; if he doesn't do what he says, he'll lose Oliver forever.

 _I can't do that to my best friend,_ the Scottish engine thought sorrowfully, sighing in defeat afterwards.

"No one else will find out about this," he demanded.

"You have my word," Greg swore while holding up two fingers, symbolizing a scout's honor.

Meanwhile, James wandered around the yard to wait for Greg and Douglas, but a peculiar sound caught his ears when he ventured to the opposite side of the yard. Once he passed a few trains, he found none other than Duck muttering incoherently, facing the other way and hiding his face. But what really confused James was that there was no one else around, so who was he talking to?

"Oh, what would I even say to him? 'Oliver, I know we're great friends, but this whole incident between us…' Ugh…I can't even look it at him without thinking about that ki-."

"Duck?" James spoke as he approached, nearly making Duck jump out of his metal in surprise, "Who are you talking to?"

"U-Uh…heh-heh…was I talking out loud?" Duck stuttered, hoping he was oblivious to that last part.

"Yes," the red engine answered slowly.

"Oh, uh…whoops?"

"Is something bothering you, Duck?"

"N-No, no! Of course not!"

"If you're stuttering and far more distant than usual, then it's clearly nothing! Just spit it out!"

"There's nothing to tell!"

"Really? Then what were you going to say to Oliver?"

Duck's rage quickly turned into paranoia. He _had_ heard him.

"I think it's pretty obvious that there's been some personal vendetta between you two lately. Thomas even told me that you won't let Oliver help you with anything anymore. Why is that?"

"I-It…i-it's nothing, really," Duck quivered helplessly, unable to look James in the eye, giving away his obvious lie.

"Well, since you won't talk to him, then I'll just go get him myself and bring him here. If there's something wrong, then you need to talk it out."

James tried to back out of the yard, but Duck quickly chased after him, "W-Why do you care so much about what's going on with me and Oliver, anyway?!"

"Because if the both of you continue to avoid each other, then your work won't get done faster, so Sir Topham Hatt will most likely make _me_ do it."

"But you don't need to worry about that! I was going to talk to him anyway!"

The two engines stopped, silence falling upon them for a moment.

"Were you really?" James questioned doubtfully, his eyes squinting in suspicion. Duck couldn't bring himself to answer, and instead blushed while looking away in shame.

"Alright, James, enough chit-chat! Time ta go!" Greg shouted as he strutted up to James, Douglas not far behind.

"Did you get all the details?" James asked.

"The whole kit and caboodle." To prove his point, Greg waved a thick notebook, showing pages covered in paragraphs and bullet points. Not needing any further evidence, James left the yard once Greg climbed back into the coaches, leaving Duck and Douglas in an awkward tension like no other.

"What did Greg Steffer want with _you_?" Duck eventually asked out of curiosity.

"Oh, heh…wait until the next newspaper is published, and you'll see," Douglas replied nervously, knowing that if Duck found out that Greg blackmailed him and why, he would only be one step closer to losing Oliver.


End file.
